We recall the makas b'choros, the slaying of the Egyptian first-born, on
the first two nights of Passover, the most terrible of the ten plagues with
which He afflicted Egypt.

As in all instances of divine intercession into human affairs, fathoming
His intent, plan and ways lies beyond our intellectual grasp even though we are the pinnacle of His creation. After all, who are we to presume that we can fathom the reasons for which He does anything?

We are limited to prayer and praise. We can conjecture, however, that
He slew the bechorim, all the Egyptian first-born of the land including beasts as well as humans, to unequivocally demonstrate to Pharoah, a first-born himself, but spared the terrible fate of that night, that his only choice-other than to bring utter destruction to his country-would be to proclaim the absolute sovereignty of the One God, Ha Shem Yisborach, and thereby let the descendants of Jacob go.

His subsequent release of B’nai Yisrael, a decision he later reversed at Yam Suf, (commonly translated as the Red Sea) cost him dearly.

We can, I believe, safely infer most Egyptian families had more than one child. At the center of the slaying of the first-born is not only the immeasurable power of God, but His ability to slay the first male without causing collateral harm to his younger siblings.

The birth of a bechor places him at the top of the birth order. That fact alone distinguishes him from his siblings. As happens in many youthful marriages, he is born at a time when, not too many years before, his mother and father were the children of their once youthful parents.

We set him apart from his younger siblings-not because we love him any the more-only that his childhood begins when ours ends. Should
he predecease us, a part of us dies too ... the remnant of an earlier time in our lives, faint tracings of our own childhood.